Page 32 of In Your Light

“I was curious.”

“You know what they say about that.”

“Yes, well, I've nearly died only three times.”

“What?”

“Yep. Though it depends on how strict your definitions are.”

Hadeom stared and threw the leaf to the ground. He spat out what was left in his mouth.

Fyn laughed so hard, he held his stomach. “You believed me.”

“You say these things with remarkable confidence. Shall we revisit the talk-to-the-tree conversation we had before?”

He chuckled. “That was real.”

Hadeom huffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes, refusing to admit how much he enjoyed Fyn’s company.

Then Fyn pulled his shirt over his head.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Hadeom asked. Not that he minded the view... because Fyn was beautiful. Even more so without a shirt. His warm brown skin looked so smooth, Hadeom wanted to touch it.

He tucked one end of his shirt into his pants and fashioned the fabric into a makeshift basket.

“We’re foraging,” Fyn replied. “Thought that was obvious.”

They collected some things together.

Blackberries. Sorrel. Young chanterelles that Fyn harvested with surprising care.

“Never pull the whole thing,” he murmured. “Leave enough behind.” He covered the place with leaves again, almost reverently. “So it comes back. And only take what you need.”

Hadeom watched Fyn’s hands. They were gentle. Not untouched by hardship, as they bore scratches and old scars, but they were clearly hands that had spent more of their life tending than taking.

Unlike his own.

Hadeom’s hands had built kingdoms and ruined them. Built armies and broke hearts. Held dying beasts down as they took their last breaths. There had been centuries when everything he'd touched eventually became ruin. Without thinking, he tucked his hands into his pockets.

Fyn noticed, of course. He noticed everything. Instead of asking, he simply wandered closer until their shoulders brushed. Not accidentally.

Warm.

Hadeom had forgotten how warm another person could be. Or rather, he wondered if he’d ever known it.

It wasn’t about the temperature, but the presence. Like sunlight heating old stone enough so the warmth lingered even after the sun had disappeared.

“You know,” Fyn said after a while. “I think the forest likes you.”

“It shouldn't.”

“I think it does.”

Hadeom got the feeling they weren’t talking about the forest, but he was too afraid to ask.

To hope.

Deep in his bones, Hadeom knew he was wrong for Fyn. Fyn was everything warm and bright in the world, whereas Hadeom was cold and dark.